


Didn't make it in to work for three days

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick!Gene!fic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't make it in to work for three days

  
"Hello?" Sam pushes the door open and peers into the musty space beyond. Outside the sun is blazing, the world warm and green and alive, but inside Gene's house it's dark and close and a little smelly--not just cigarette smoke, coffee and old beer, but an unpleasant sickly odor. Sam's heart gives an odd leap at the thought, and he swallows.

He leaves the door open behind him like a lifeline. The foyer is tidy but dusty. The kitchen beyond it is messy, stacks of takeaway containers and dirty dishes, but the smells are not as strong as he fears. A sitting room is curtained and unwelcoming, grey as a tomb. Well, nothing for it; the stairs, then.

He takes them two at a time, eager to investigate and be done. The smell is stronger upstairs. He sticks his head in the bathroom and turns on the light; someone's been sick in here.

"Gene?"

A muffled groan from the door down the hall.

"Turn it off," Gene rasps when Sam snaps on the light. He's under three or four blankets, an assortment of coffee cups and bottles on the bedside table, a small trash bin right next to the bed which has clearly been called on beyond the call of duty.

Sam leaves the light on and crosses the room, puts a hand to Gene's pale and sweat-damp brow.

"You're burning up."

"Bollocks." He sounds like he hasn't used his voice in a million years.

"I'm taking you to hospital."

"Don't be--" hacking cough, "a fairy. M'fine. Need... need some breakfast and--oh shit--" He cranes over the side of the bed and vomits into the bin.

"Gene." Sam eases him back with a hand on his shoulder--his hot, bare shoulder--and tries to give him a reassuring grin. "I've got you. It's OK."

"Oh, bloody hell. My own buggering nursemaid."  



End file.
